A/N: I found this episode incredibly intense and heart-breaking on many levels, not the least of which was Sam's emotional agony as he tried to find his way through a terrible dilemma, and the cold ruthlessness of the Mark of Cain in exploiting the Charlie-shaped crack in Dean's armor. While the show won't go here, I just wanted to speculate a little.

The Natural Order

It surged up inside him like a tsunami. Rage. Hatred. Power. And he wasn't certain, in that moment, who was deserving of such hatred.

And then he was.

Sam.

Cas.

Himself.

They'd all of them played a role. Oh, he'd begged Sam and Cas not to go forward, to stop, any number of times. But it began with him. With the day he accepted the Mark from Cain.

Rage. Hatred.

Power.

It came much easier than he expected. He put his hand on the angel, snapped his wrist just as Cas had done to him in the crypt years before. And then he loosed all that rage and hatred and power, and beat him.

And beat him.

Hurled him into the desk, grabbed him, slammed him down over and over.

The angel put up only minimal resistance.

And then finally, as he leaned down and flipped Cas onto his back, saw the angel blade in his sleeve; as he knelt down and took it, held it, he heard the plea.

"Dean . . . please . . ."

He'd said the same once, to Cas. As an angel beat him so badly the bones of his face shattered beneath broken flesh.

'Cas . . . please . . .'

Cas had stopped.

He steeled himself to do it. To end the angel.

The blade shook in his hand.

'Because the Dean Winchester I know would never have murdered that kid.'

Cas didn't know. Cas didn't realize.

'Yeah, well—that Dean's always been kind of a dick.'

It was too late, and Cas didn't see it. Cas still saw Dean. Thought he was talking to Dean.

'Guys like me, we are the natural order.'

Guys like him.

'There's no point in trying to bring your brother back now.'

He was very nearly gone.

He hung there over Cas as he knelt, staring down at him. Saw the battered, bleeding face.

He lifted the angel blade, gripped it hard, felt only a moment's regret . . . or was it regret?

No. He didn't feel that anymore. Nothing like regret.

He slammed down the blade, point-first. Impaled.

Then he was up, turning, moving; always moving, needing to go, to leave behind him all of it.

He walked away. "You and Sam stay the hell away from me." He turned slightly, glancing back. "Next time I won't miss."

And he meant to leave then, meant to go, to get away from it all. But something stopped him.

It surged up again, the tsunami he recognized. And he paused.

A little of him was left. That part of him, even as it faded, wanted them to know. To understand that it was too late. All of it, too late.

They wanted to save him. But he was already lost.

Cas didn't know. Sam wouldn't until Cas told him.

He turned. Took the steps back. Lingered briefly, staring at the angel as blood fell from his mouth. Saw the eyes, those brilliant blue eyes, and the compassion in them, the plea that Dean come back to himself.

Dean said, "I took out the Stynes. Killed them all. But one of them got lucky just before he died."

Cas, so bloodied, gazed at him. Didn't get it.

Dean said it aloud, the same words he'd said to Sam months before. "Guys like me—we are the natural order."

Lean, mean Dean.

Now, Cas understood. "Dean."

He shook his head. "Dean's gone. Tell Sam—tell Sam not to bother this time. Got that? It's over. For good. Because if he comes after me again . . . this time, I'll kill him."

'Because the Dean Winchester I know would never have murdered that kid.'

Dean Winchester hadn't.

"Wait—" the angel called.

The demon did not.

~ end ~